In the Throes of Honor
by Princess de Montpensier
Summary: Sent to Red Keep in search of a rich husband by a vicious aunt, the heiress of House Arryn saddled with Sweetrobin as a companion thinks that life can get no worse. If only she knew that the killer of her uncle Jon is still lurking in the corners...with his eyes firmly set on the latest addition to court. The Game of Thrones is about to begin and we have a new player in the making
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**__: __**A Melody of Grief**_

* * *

The iron bells riddled with centuries old cracks chimed for the last time and finally fell still. Silence descended upon the Vale, enveloping the snow-capped towers of theEyrie, the misty pathways of the bereft mountain sides, the lifeless body of a man who once bore the proud title of Warden of the East. His wrinkled countenance shrunken with age or perchance the pathetic farce his marriage had become was coated with a numbing layer of tears, tears prominently lacking on his still breathing wife´s face, a face painted with disbelief, agony and perhaps even delight, though it was hard to tell what with the shadows lurking in her fiery mane. Somewhere deep in the castle Ludmilla awoke, shivering from the dawn´s bitter embrace. In the sky´s azure expanse a falcon sped towards the burning horizon. For a brief moment the sleepy lass thought it flew as high as honor. If only the heiress knew how wrong she was…

Thousands of leagues away Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was having a truly horrible day. "What do you mean he is dead?" roared the now over-weight ruler, his face turning a brilliant shade of red, not much different from the half-spilled contents of his wine glass. To his credit Varys did not even flinch upon the verbal assault. "My lord…the death must have come upon him in his sleep. Certainly you have noticed how frail the Hand has become in the past months and..." "Enough!" bellowed Robert, eyeing the Master of Whispers disdainfully. "I will not have the name of my dearest friend tarnished, regardless if dead or alive. Now get out. You have served your purpose, spider. I need time to think." "As you wish, your highness" came the prompt response from the already retreating eunuch. Yes, Robert Baratheon was having a truly horrible day indeed.

"Dead! One of the usurper´s dogs is dead! How splendid! I believe this calls for a celebration! Bring out your best wine, Illyrio! Prepare the feast! Oh, how marvelous, how absolutely marvelous!" The Beggar King´s joy seemed to know no bounds. Now with one of his enemies gone and the wedding of his younger sister nearly as good as done, the throne of the Seven Kingdoms seemed to be closer than ever. Yes, justice would be finally served its due. Surprisingly the magister´ s thoughts for once mirrored that of his guest. However when he thought of justice it was not the leering face of the now dancing pompous man that appeared in front of the merchant´s eyes, but rather the feline form of a gentle girl with hair the color of spun silk and eyes such a lovely shade of violet that one could possibly drown in them. That morning Daenerys also believed to have glimpsed a flying creature in her slumber. However it was not a falcon but rather a fiendish dragon coated with fire and blood that skimmed her conscience.

The Stark household was for once silent. There was no sound of running feet, laughing children or arguing adults. The smiths slept. The guards slept. The Warden of the North slept. Only Bran climbed higher and higher into the crevices of the ancient stronghold. Another leap, one more pull and…Summer broke out in pitiful whimpers some thousand feet below. "What is it? What have you seen?" whispered the boy. The wolf came up with no response. And so Brandon Stark continued to climb that night, deaf to the melody of grief the three-eyed raven chanted in the heavens above.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1: A Day Like No Other**_

* * *

Something was different that morning. If only Ludmilla could place her finger on what it was that seemed to be so irksome. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that her hair was an auburn crow´s nest after the decent night´s sleep, her eyes a mild brown, her cheeks a rosy shade so common to the House of Royce she had the honor to represent. Another brief look and the girl came face to face with the image of her feminine figure tarnished as Lady Lysa would argue by the lanky arms and miniature feet, so different from those of her clan´s famed, rumored ancestors- the giants. Yes, neither a pleasant nor an uncommon reflection for Ludmilla to behold so early in the morning. "However if it is not me that has changed…what could it possibly be then in this time frozen palace?" wondered the still sleepy girl. The response came in the sudden appearance of her youngest cousin Robin, barging through the mahogany door in an onslaught of shrieks and snot. In his high-pitched voice which under any other circumstances would have proven a rather fitting parody of sounds that might escape a suffocating grasshopper, the pesky youth kept gleefully mumbling the words "dead" and "father" and most frequent of all "Moon Door", creating the overall impression of being barking mad. The meaning of his message however was not lost on the lass. Something terrible must have occurred over night, a sight she just had to see for herself, tangled hair and revealing nightgown be damned.

"Ach, Ludmilla you have finally found the will in yourself to actually leave the bed for once and show respect for my deceased husband who has done so much for you and that rude family of yours", was the "warm" greeting our protagonist stumbled upon when bursting into the deceased´s chambers. To be honest she never quite got along with Lady Lysa. The Maiden knows, she tried. Really. However be it the fact that Ludmilla´s favorite Aunt Lady Jeyne had once been married to Lord Arryn or the circumstance that the witty girl was a clear favorite of the Warden of the East, the former Tully never managed to feel anything else for Ludmilla apart from growing contempt which seemed only to deteriorate with each year. As a result, the young girl chose to ignore the hurtful comment, instead making her way to the dead man ´s side. Lying on the narrow bed, which its owner always claimed to be the best remedy for his more often than not aching spine, the corpse reeked heavily. The scent by itself appeared harmless, an earthly essence spiced here and there by the fragrance of pines that occupied the larger part of the Eyrie´s territories. It was its combination with Lysa´ s nauseatingly sweet perfume that made the stench so unbearable in the claustrophobically small bedroom, not much different in design from one of the notorious sky cells. "Go on, gloat girl, while you still have the chance. In an hour from now the guards will come to accompany my poor beloved Jon to his last journey. He will fly high up into the air through the Moon Door as those falcons of his and seek release in the Father´s divine embrace. Ach, my poor, poor Jon…"and Lysa promptly dissolved in a fit of tears Ludmilla could not help bur deem as fake. If only she could do something…However her status as an unmarried woman stranded in a stranger´s home could do her no good. Thus, with a last, fleeting look at the crumpled form of the elderly man she had once so greatly admired for his unending wisdom and warmth, the girl stormed out of the room and into the cold of her imminent future, what with her sole protector dead and gone.

* * *

"I would like to offer my condolences, Lord Baelish," came the rasping whisper from the shadows to Littlefinger´s immediate right.

"Condolences? Nonsense, my friend Varys. What is there to grief for? "came the immediate reply.

"Why, what with your close ties to the Arryns, I felt assured that you would share in their misery. Lady Lysa must feel devastated over her husband´s death. Alone, bearing the entire weight of the Vale region on her shoulders, no wonder she seeks respite at court…"

"Lysa has always been the stronger of the two sisters, I am sure she will manage quite well with her former spouse´s affairs. However what is this talk about court? Surely you must err. The road from the Eyrie to the Red Keep constitutes a perilous journey…"

"While that is certainly true, I am sure Lady Arryn being as you´ve so kindly put it the stronger of the two sisters will manage this outing all the same. After all when driven by the purest of intentions, the human soul can overcome any obstacle that shall stand in his way."

"And what motifs exactly are you speaking of, Lord Varys?"

"Ah, so you have not heard yet…My, oh my, such information and flying right past that little finger of yours…"

"If there is something you want to tell me, you should do it now. Some of us have important matters of state to perform."

"Yes, the brothels must call to you…Now what I wanted to bring to your attention was the little piece of news that the former Lady Arryn is on her way to court in search of a new husband meant to help her rebuild the splendor of her lands. My birdies whisper that she will be here shortly, in less than a week perhaps. Is that not a joyous idea? Some even venture to say that the lady is on the search for her one true love…"

"But you and I certainly know better than that, Lord Varys. Now if you´ll excuse me, duty calls."

"Certainly, Lord Baelish" sounded the instant retort and the Spider once more dissolved amidst the palace´s ever-present shadows.

"That insolent, foolish shrew!" muttered Petyr angrily as he quickly sauntered along the dim corridors of the Keep. "In search of her true love, ha! Cannot follow even the simplest of instructions! However, perhaps there is still time to salvage the situation…is not that pretty niece of hers travelling with Lysa as well? Interesting…yes, the game is getting extremely interesting…" With that last thought Littlefinger pushed past his helpers Felipis and Olyvar and into the warmth of the hellish bordello he had the misfortune to possess.

* * *

"Perhaps, it is time for us to talk."

"What do you want, Cersei? My mentor, friend died only two days ago…Leave me be."

"That´s exactly the issue I would like to discuss Robert. He is dead! Has been for some time now…not that he was that efficient when alive either. Our Kingdom needs a Hand and a strong one at that! While you sit here locked up drinking and whoring around, rumors are spreading that the king is weak, that the state is weak…We cannot afford the unrest!"

"Quiet, woman! And what do you propose? That I nominate that self-centered father of yours to be my Hand? Or perhaps the lousy abomination you call a brother- the Kingslayer? One of the only people who I could trust is dead and all you can do is fret about power. Power, it is always about power when it comes to you! Not like Lyanna…not at all."

"How dare you mention her name in front of me, the mother of your children!"

"How dare I?! I am the King! Now be gone before I will do something we will both regret later."

The dismissal was crystal clear. Picking up her richly embroidered skirts the color of blood, the Lannister queen proudly left her husband´s chambers, quick to avoid his temper tantrum. The desolate ruler meanwhile once again submerged himself into a dazzling haze of Dornish red, his only thought being that while the now gone Lord Arryn was one of the few people worthy of his trust, he was not the only friend Robert still had as a result of the rebellion…

* * *

"Catelyn, what´s wrong? You look as if you´ve seen a ghost…"

"It is nothing…just…Lysa writes bearing bad news and even worse accusations. Jon…he is dead Ned. Has been for two days now. Just never woke up due to old age, the healers claim. Lysa…she is inconsolable, believes even that the Lannisters had something to do with it. But why would they?"

"Those lions seek nothing but power. Now with Arryn gone, Robert will have to choose a new Hand. What better candidate could there be than his queen´s father, the all-mighty Lord Lannister?"

"Well there is one other person that the king would want to turn to."

"Who? The Tyrells with their cunning and never-ending resources? Perhaps his older brother Stannis who some believe never smiles?"

"Ned…I meant you. You are his only friend left. He will want you."

"Perchance he will understand that I am not fir for this role? Winterfell needs me here. You and the children need me here. My friend, Robert, must see that. Tell me, does Lysa mention what Jon´s last words were?"

"Yes, now that you mention it…He said that the seed is strong…"

* * *

"Whose seed?"

"Ludmilla, how could I possibly know? I am only telling you what I could pry from the guards, per your request I may add."

"Miranda, cousin, I am thankful but don´t you see that this is a puzzle of sorts, a code even… Surely, Lord Arryn could not have meant Sweetrobin?!"

"You never know, darling, perchance Lady Lysa is with a babe!"

"Lady Lysa? Pregnant? You must be kidding?"

"And yet Lord Arryn is dead, _murdered_, as you claim him to be and the only clue we have is that someone´s seed is strong. What do you propose to do now?"

"Why, seek out answers…We owe Uncle Jon that much at least."

With this sentiment the girls´ fate was sealed and thus two new players of the game of thrones were born on that day, a day like no other.


End file.
